Wanderlust
by hionlife
Summary: Christopher drags David on a roadtrip. But he always has a reason for the things he does.
1. Prologue

Wanderlust

By, hionlife

Note: Should warn you now, its rated for language. Nothing ya'll haven't heard before.

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Chapter 1, Prologue

Chicago, Illinois

It's early, way too early in the opinion of most teenagers, on one of those hazy, sticky summer mornings when Christopher shows up, unannounced, at his door.

"Morning General," Christopher grins. "Hope I didn't wake you." David rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks, curiously eyeing the boy's tourist like get up, complete with neon orange board shorts. The kind with fifty different pockets and zippers that David had personally avoided like the plague.

"What are you doing here?"

Christopher backs off the porch step and pulls the fisherman's hat off his head in order to perform a deep bow.

"I'm here to whisk you away," he announces.

"I really don't care to be whisked," David replies, in a way that makes Christopher think he probably wouldn't mind it. It's as good an invitation as any he'll get and he shoulders his way past the boy and into the house.

"Just get your shit together Dave," he says. "This trains leaving in five minutes."

"Christopher," David sputters, following him through his own house. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?" The blonde ignores him, glancing around the cluttered house he spots a pile of dirty laundry in the hall and begins to paw through it.

"We," Christopher tells him with emphasis. "Are going to Cleveland."

"Cleveland?" David repeats. "What the hell's in Cleveland?"

Christopher grins lazily in response and pushes a pair of dark sunglasses onto his nose.

"Rock n' roll."

"You're kidding."

"Not really."

"You're drunk."

"Ah, no," Christopher frowns at this and tosses him a t-shirt from the pile.

"We can't go to Cleveland," David insists, grabbing his wallet from the hall table.

"You're right," Christopher smirks, wondering if David realizes that his actions aren't exactly mirroring his words. "How about Texas? Los Angeles?" He pauses in thought, blue eyes growing wide in excitement; he slaps David on the back. "Mexico."

"No," David persists, his voice muffled by the cotton fabric as he pulls it over his head. "We can't just leave."

"Yes, we can," Christopher replies and shoves him out the door with the t-shirt still halfway over his head.

"We can't," David continues, stepping away from Christopher, who moans and drags his feet across the sun fried grass toward the curb.

"Why not David? Why the hell not?"

"We don't have any money," David begins.

"I've got money," Christopher says and then grins wickedly at David's skeptical look. "Don't you worry about it, princess."

David glowers at him and stands immobile on the sidewalk, feels the heat from the concrete soaking through his sneakers.

"I've got work," he finally says. Christopher shakes his head and grabs the brunettes shoulder, peers closely at him.

"How much of your time are you going to waste at Starbucks? Really, the place is a pit. Who cares?"

"Me and my wallet," David replies. Christopher smiles and yanks open the driver's door.

"I told you not to worry about the money. Now let's go already." David shakes his head and crosses his arms.

"I can't just leave. My mom--"

"Won't give a flying fuck," Christopher returns. "And you know it." David scowls at him for a moment and glances at the house once more before heading around the car.

"Fuck you, Christopher," he says and slides into the passenger seat.

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Note: There's lots more to this if anyone's interested. "Better to be critical than to be silent." I was sitting in the hall, waiting for my class to start last night and the journalism prof (I think) who was teaching said exactly that. I think its lovely advice. I also think it would be lovely if my friends would come kidnap me for random roadtrips, but they tend to laugh when I ask. No one ever takes me seriously. sigh...


	2. Bad Company

Chapter 2, Bad Company

Chicago Heights, Illinois

Sadly, Christopher's old Mazda is in much better condition than the Buick, which has spent the last month stalled in the driveway, as it's coolant system has given out and it can no longer handle anything over sixty degree heat. A fact that Christopher has no trouble bringing up. Repeatedly. They make good time in the Mazda though and they're cruising through the outskirts of the city, rolling past the 'Now leaving town, please visit us again' sign stuck in the dust at the side of the road, before David bothers to ask:

"We're not getting the others?"

"Other what?" Christopher responds, not looking away from the road. If David wants to question his choice of companion, let him. But Christopher certainly won't make it easy.

"Jalil? April?" David presses.

"Oh, those others," Christopher drags, as if just realizing who he is talking about. "Nah."

"Why not?"

Christopher glances over at this question and grins.

"'Cause I only wanted to torture you."

"Right," David accepts. Though he knows Christopher well enough to not take this answer at face value. "I thought this was a group thing. The four of us." Christopher remains quiet for a moment. Runs a hand through his wind blown hair and holds on at the ends for just an extra second so he can feel the tug on his scalp.

"You ever wonder when that happened?" he asks. "When the four of us became a group?" David shrugs. It wasn't something he devoted a lot, or any, thought to.

"No."

"You think that would have happened anyway?" Christopher asks. It isn't a question that requires a whole lot of thought either, even from Christopher. The four of them were at opposite ends of the spectrum and still are. Popular drama girl, smart guy, class clown, and the loner. David doesn't hesitate to respond.

"No. No way. What's it even matter?"

Christopher shrugs and shifts his grip on the wheel, right hand for left and sticks his arm out the window to catch the wind in his fingers.

"It doesn't."

David sinks into the worn fabric of the passenger seat and crosses his arms, realizing that he had no idea what a psycho Christopher could be. He used to attribute it to the alcohol, but here the guy is, stone cold sober, and spouting off nonsensical crap. If he survives this trip and anyone asks him, David decides he will tell them he was forced into coming along against his will. And while saying that Christopher was able to subdue and kidnap him would be bad, admitting that he went willingly would be even worse.

"What's this about?" he presses Christopher, who remains quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought, trying to put into words an answer he can't even clarify in his mind.

"They wouldn't get it," Christopher finally says over the drone of the engine. David stares at him for a moment, trying to catch up with the random subject changes and figure out what the guy is talking about. "April and Jalil," Christopher explains, noticing David's confusion. "April," he pauses. "She likes this life too much, she's happy." He waits for David to nod and is somewhat surprised by the calm understanding on the other boy's face. "And Jalil," Christopher continues, taking a deep breath of highway air and grinning like he knows the punch line to the joke. "He's just too damn smart."

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A/N: For the record, this is not and will not be slash. It just i'nt. This chapter was kind of short, but important in the big scheme of things. Jalil is just too damn smart isn't he? Reading over that again, I suddenly feel like writing some really bad 'Jalil is so smart' jokes. Like the 'Yo Momma' jokes. Yo Momma's so fat when it says all you can eat, it still ain't enough! Well, Jalil's so smart, he ai'nt even in this fic! ...groan... Yea, that was bad. -hi


	3. Insert Pirates Here

Chapter 3, Insert Pirates Here

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

They drive all of that first day, with the sun burning their eyes in the rearview mirror, and into the night, taking turns napping in the backseat. The trip began aimlessly, until the decision to head east was made by David, after Christopher admitted to having never seen the ocean.

"Seriously?" David asked him. "Never?"

"Never," Christopher confirmed.

"Now _that_ is a problem."

David's not sure they'll actually make it as far as the coast, but he's willing to humor Christopher for a while. His boss shouldn't mind if he misses a day or two, which is about as long as it should take for his mother to realize he hasn't been home.

"Pull off here," Christopher instructs him, pointing to the upcoming rest stop. It's after midnight and the shadowed parking lot contains only a few cars with license plates from far western states and one from Canada. Inside, the bright fluorescent lights don't hide drab walls that contain a cafeteria, a gift shop, and of course, restrooms. David tells Christopher where he's going and heads for the latter.

"I'll get some grub," Christopher says and starts toward the cafeteria area. When David exits the bathroom five minutes later though, Christopher is nowhere to be seen. David rounds the cafeteria three times, before starting back for the restrooms. He can't help but think that this may all have been part of Christopher's plan.

The bathroom is empty, save for one grizzly trucker who winks at him on his way out. David shudders and curses Christopher's name on the way to the gift shop.

Though he restrains himself from going out to the parking lot to see if the car is still there, he can't help but imagine Christopher, flying down the dark highway, radio full blast and no headlights, because he always forgets to turn the things on, laughing like the maniac that he really is at the thought of David here alone, fending off the advances of desperate truckers with beer guts. He should have held onto the keys.

"Hey, General!" Christopher greets from where he stands beside the register. Ignoring the cashier, David marches up to him and grabs his arm.

"Where the hell were you?" he demands. Christopher smiles nervously and holds up two bags and sodas.

"I got food."

"I couldn't find you."

"Worried I left without you General?" Christopher asks and then laughs at the embarrassment evident on David's face.

"No," he sputters quickly and releases Christopher's arm. Christopher laughs and reaches into another bag to pull out a shirt.

"Got this for you. The one you're wearing is getting kind of rank," he says. David eyes Christopher's gift suspiciously and pulls at the neck of his shirt. He'd worn it last week in ninety-degree heat to mow the lawn and then it had lain in a heap of dirty laundry until Christopher dragged it out. Needless to say, he could use a change.

"I smell enough of you over there," Christopher smirks.

"Funny," David remarks, unfolding the t-shirt. It's black with a white print of a pirate in front of crossed baseball bats and the words 'Pittsburgh Pirates' across the top.

"Pittsburgh Pirates," David reads, appalled. "Christopher, I can't wear this."

"Why not?"

"Pittsburgh," David tells him with wide eyes, as if it should be obvious. "That's like treason."

"Yea, but pirates," Christopher defends happily, apparently oblivious to anything resembling loyalty in baseball. "Who doesn't like pirates? Arrgh," he growls at David, to the other boy's great horror.

"Who doesn't like pirates," David mocks in a low voice, but stops by the bathroom again anyway, to pull the clean shirt on with little more grumbling.

"I was looking at the map," Christopher tells him on the way out. 'We could make it to the coast by tomorrow afternoon if we keep driving."

"No rush," David replies, barely catching Christopher's look of disappointment at his words.

"Yea," the blonde agrees. "No rush."

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A/N: Chapter title comes from advice that (I believe) came from the Nanowrimo site. When all else fails in fiction, insert pirates. Ai'nt that the truth? And anyway, I mean really, who _doesn't_ like pirates? (excluding David, whom we know to be a fool) :) -hi


	4. Napoleon This

Chapter 4, Napoleon This

Ocean Gate, New Jersey

David has just settled into that cozy place somewhere between asleep and awake with the sun warming the car and ocean air breezing in the window, when a muffled voice reaches him from the front seat, drawing him back toward alertness. Christopher, mumbling the words to whatever song happens to be on the radio. He's preparing to open his eyes when Christopher shifts in the front and the radio volume suddenly hits the roof.

"_Behind the guh-un, I will make my final stand_," Christopher sings along to the classic rock tune, his voice loud and unashamed.

"Christopher?" David questions him quietly, not willing to move just yet.

"_That's why they call me_," he pauses as the music does, banging the heels of his palms on the steering wheel with the drums. "_Bad Company, and I can't deny_."

"Christopher?"

"_Bad, bad company, till the day I die_."

"Christopher, shut up," David moans from the back seat. "I was trying to sleep."

"What's the problem General? You know the words. Sing along," Christopher encourages. David sits up with a growl and leans over the seat to turn the volume down.

"No, I don't know the words and I don't sing and now I can't sleep either," he rants.

"Touché," Christopher admonishes with a glance in the rearview mirror at the disgruntled boy. "We're almost there anyway."

"Fabulous," David growls. He really hadn't expected them to make it this far. The fact that they had was oddly liberating, but those thoughts were easily squashed by his annoyance with Christopher and the fact that he was supposed to be at work, back in Chicago, in an hour.

Eight red lights, five wrong turns, and one very fast drive in reverse down a one-way street, accompanied with lots of yelling, later they find a parking space near a public beach. Christopher is first out of the car, sliding on his pair of dark sunglasses to block out the white bright sun.

"Wow," he says, gazing out at the ocean. "Looks just like Lake Michigan. Glad I drove nine hundred miles to see it."

David crawls out of the car and slams the door.

"It's nothing like the lake," he says and motions for Christopher to follow him across the sun-baked sand.

"Big. Blue. Watery," Christopher rambles. "Yep, I see now. Polar opposites."

"First of all," David almost yells, gesturing wildly toward the shore. "Look at that water. It's clean. It's clear." He waits for Christopher to nod in relenting agreement before continuing. "Look at the waves. They're huge."

"There ai'nt no surf in Chicago, USA," Christopher admits and David actually grins a little in response.

"Exactly." They slip out of their shoes and leave them high on the sand before wading into the water, salty waves sloshing around their ankles.

"Lake doesn't pull like this either," Christopher comments.

"Yea," David glances over at him. "Be careful." Christopher squirms at this and kicks water in David's direction.

"Be careful," he throws back in a dorky voiced rendition. "Okay Mom."

"I was just--"

"Yea, yea, Dave. Don't worry about it," Christopher replies, shaking his head. The guy wouldn't pick up on a joke even if it slapped him in the face. It's something, Christopher decides, he'll have to work on.

"Wish I had a boat," David mutters, squinting out at the horizon.

"Navy man all the way, huh?" Christopher jokes,oblivious to the meaning behind his words as he ventures further until the water reaches his knees. David looks over at him sharply.

"My dad was in the Navy," he says quietly. "A Marine."

Well, that explains a lot, Christopher thinks, and then says so, which is typically how his brain works.

"What's that supposed to mean?" David asks, immediately on the defensive.

"Nothing," Christopher shrugs. "I didn't know that. It explains a lot."

"Like what?" David presses, sloshing a few steps toward him.

"Like, your freakishly Napoleonesque tendencies," Christopher says and then has two seconds to register David charging at him before he is tackled and shoved underwater. He takes one mouthful of salty seawater before the hands on his shoulders relent for a moment and he sits up, spitting and gasping for air.

"Napoleon this, you clown," David growls and shoves him under again. This time, Christopher comes up laughing and David only glares for a moment more before breaking down and joining him. When they settle down some, Christopher grins wickedly and dives at David, tickling fingers searching for the sensitive skin on his sides. The General's laugh isn't something he hears often and it's almost like a familiar stranger, sloughing off David's thick skin of anxieties, and for once, relaxing. Maybe it's the ocean water, he thinks, but he wouldn't mind getting to know that stranger a bit better.

By the time they wade back out of the waves, they are both completely soaked and Christopher's rock n' roll sunglasses have been lost in the Atlantic.

"Another casualty at sea," David tells him as they sprawl out on the warm sand. They nap the afternoon away on the beach, listening to the roar and rhythm of the waves, only thinking about hitting the road late that evening when their clothes are fully dry and their faces are permanently blushed from the sun. They stumble back to the car and climb in, smearing sand all over the seats in the process.

"Where to now?" Christopher asks as he starts the car. David doesn't answer for a moment, looking at the clock on the dash. It's 7 p.m., he's in New Jersey, with Christopher of all people, he's missed an entire shift at work, and he couldn't care less.

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A/N: I've only seen the ocean in Florida, but I'll assume its pretty similar to the ocean in New Jersey. I apologize if I am mistaken and ya'll take great pride in your ocean over there in Jersey. For the record, all city names used have simply been plucked off a map. Also, the song is 'Bad Company' by (surprise, surprise) Bad Company. If you haven't heard it, I'd recommend checking them out. Thanks to all that read. :)


	5. Old Ways

Chapter 5, Old Ways

Oak Ridge, Tennessee

They're actually getting along. Shock. Awe. Christopher's not such a bad guy, David thinks. And how can you dislike someone that actually knows the words to every bad eighties pop song ever written. It's sad really. He knows the calm atmosphere can't last though and around noon that itchy energy begins to grow in his chest. Christopher sleeps for a while, but when he wakes the jokes have died off, and they sit numbly staring out at miles and miles of approaching highway in the gathering dusk. David knows they're in trouble when, on just driving into the city, Christopher announces:

"We should stop at a bar."

David tries to point out the logical flaws with that plan before starting his usual 'I don't drink, what's the point?' argument.

"You're not twenty one. They're not going to give you anything," he says.

"You think I'd get carded?" Christopher asks needlessly. David sighs.

"Yes."

"Man," Christopher moans and slouches in his seat. "I need a drink."

David grips the steering wheel a little tighter, because he knows how Christopher can get, hell, he knows how _he_ can get too, and there's only so many ways this conversation can go. He takes a deep breath.

"Why?"

"Why?" Christopher echoes, as if he's never heard the word before, as if David's just questioned the existence of the entire universe. "Because," he replies and can only think thatan answer as simple as that will be accepted.

"I thought you eased up on that--," David trails off. He hadn't been paying as much attention to Christopher's drinking habits lately. It didn't seem like he'd been drinking as much, but then, maybe he should have been taking better notice.

"Eased up," Christopher agrees, sharp blue eyeswarning David to back off. "Not gave up."

David nods like he accepts this and makes an easy shift into the right lane.

"So why do you need a drink now?"

"Not for any reason you would understand," Christopher sighs.

"Try me," David presses. Christopher ignores this and motions to the next exit.

"Just pull off here," he directs. "I'll get somebody to buy me something at a convenience store." David does as asked, but instead of trying to find a store, he swerves into an empty parking lot and shuts off the car.

"What are you doing?" Christopher questions him.

"What's it look like?"

Christopher leans over and yanks the keys from the ignition, getting in David's face in the process.

"It looks like you're being an annoying jackass. Get out of the car. If you don't want to drive, I will," Christopher spits and then climbs out onto the pitted concrete to prove his point. David stands, albeit slower, and leans across the roof of the car.

"Christopher, I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need your damn help, David. You need help. Help yourself, and leave me alone," Christopher returns. David makes a mental attempt to shrug off Christopher's comments, but his temper, flaring at best, makes it easier said than done.

"Damn it, Christopher. I'm not the one who can't go two days without a drink."

"Right," Christopher agrees. "And you have much healthier ways of coping. Don't think we can't see."

"See what?"

"That you're just as fucked up as the rest of us," Christopher thunders, making wild hand gestures. "I don't drink," he continues in a high imitation of David. "I don't like girls. Control issues? No way. Hero complex? Not me."

"You think you know me?" David yells back. "You don't know shit."

Christopher smirks. "Yea."

"Okay," David rants. "Here's you. Smart guy, likes to fuck his life up with alcohol because he can't handle when things go right."

"That's fucking genius, David. Who needs a shrink when they've got the Jewish wonder to figure their head out?"

David steps back from the Mazda and shoves the door closed, the echo of its slam reverberating through the open lot.

"You want to make it about that Christopher?"

"Yea, I do," Christopher says and mirrors David's motions, rocking the car with force. "Go ahead," he laughs mockingly. "Call me white. Make a joke. But I'll warn you, it tends to make me real angry."

"You haven't changed at all," David laughs bitterly at his sarcasm. "You're still the same drunk jackass you were two years ago."

"And you're the same Jewish bastard that stole my girl," Christopher spits across the roof. David throws his hands up at this and backs away from the car.

"I never should have come with you."

"I never should have brought you," Christopher returns. David shakes his head, before turning away and heading across the parking lot.

"I'll find my own way home," he mutters.

"Wasn't going to worry," Christopher shouts to his back, though he stands still anyway and watches David's dark form stalk across the parking lot, avoiding puddles, until he disappears into the shadows between two buildings. Only then does Christopher turn and walk away.


	6. What a Lucky Man

Chapter 6, What a Lucky Man

Oak Ridge, Tennessee

Christopher's had a bad night. First, the fight with David and then, to add insult to injury, he couldn't find anyone willing to buy a drink for him. He curses his lost fake i.d., forgotten months ago on the checkout counter of some random Drug Mart.

Eventually, he'd given up and gone into a grocery store to buy some sandwiches, chips, and soda from the machines outside. A sort of peace offering.

He's had plenty of time to stew over the argument as he wandered from store to store. The way he sees it, they were both wrong, they both overreacted, and they're in the middle of Tennessee, hundreds of miles from home. It just isn't worth it. He congratulates himself on his mature thinking, and sure, it doesn't make David less of a bastard, it just means he can acknowledge that he had been a jackass too.

The car sits alone and shadowed as he approaches. It's well past midnight now and the parking lot is lit with streetlamps that create glowing halos of light, reminding Christopher vaguely of UFOs. Except he wouldn't mind being abducted, he thinks, as he hurries through the shadowed areas and slows in the light. Near the Mazda, he shifts the bag of groceries to his hip, holds the pop cans in one hand, and fumbles to pull the keys out of his pocket. It's inevitable that he drops something, an action he'll later be grateful for, as one can of Coke slips from his fingers and rolls under the car.

He curses quietly and sets the other items on the roof, before kneeling and peering under the car. It isn't the can that catches his attention immediately, or at all, but a dark form on the ground near the passenger door.

"David," he whispers and stands quickly to jog around the car.

"David?" he says again. The other boy is slumped on the ground, one leg stretched out in front of him, his forehead resting on the other knee, hiding his face.

"Hey David?" Christopher jokes in a Jamaican accent. "Ya dead man?" His smile falls flat though when the boy still doesn't respond. He drops to his knees and reaches out to him, because David can't possibly be so angry as to out rightly ignore him. At a light touch, David jumps and attempts to lift his head up slowly, but it's either too heavy, or he misjudges, and ends up clunking it against the door panel with a hollow thud. Bruises shine like deranged war paint under his eyes and Christopher reaches toward him hesitantly.

"What happened?" he asks carefully.

"My wallet," David croaks and Christopher furrows his brow, leans in closer to see David's eyes that are hazy and unfocused. Of course this would happen now, Christopher thinks grimly. Just their dumb luck.

"Are you okay?"

David squeezes his eyes shut, bites his lip, and shakes his head slightly.

"He got my wallet," he says again, albeit more clearly. Christopher grabs the boy's shoulders and shakes him a bit, because he knows David didn't have any money, or anything else of great importance on him, and that wasn't what he was asking anyway.

"Are _you _okay?"

David's eyes flick around the parking lot before coming to rest on the blonde's face.

"My knee," he grinds out.

Releasing his shoulders, Christopher pulls David's shorts up over his knee, ignoring the sticky moisture that can only be blood.

"Fuck," he breathes at the sight of it. The knee is bruised, swollen plum purple and bleeding from a gash on the side. He's seen plenty of injuries in Everworld and knows as much from those, that this isn't good.

"Can you stand?" he asks.

"I walked all the way over here," David returns with venom, because although he needs help, the words spoken earlier are not yet forgotten. And this whole mess, a lot of it anyway, can be blamed on Christopher.

"Where're we going?" David asks, once he's slumped into the passenger seat.

"The hospital," Christopher tells him, holding in the 'you idiot' part for much later. He has two hours to sit in the waiting room and worry while David gets x-rayed, an hour after that to stand quietly next to the bed while a doctor applies the cast to his knee, and three hours after that to pace the hall while they wait for paperwork and the police to take a statement. It's after all of this, when they're limping out of the county hospital in the morning sun, and Christopher knows that David is going to be physically okay, and David leans on him just enough, instead of using his crutches, to let him know that they're okay too, that Christopher opens his mouth.

"Dude," Christopher begins in a theatrical tone, certain with all of the medicine they gave him that David is feeling no pain. "The General of Athena's army, the carrier of Galahads sword, the Great Davideus of Everworld fame, just got his ass beat in a back alley by some mugger with a crowbar."

"Fuck you, Christopher," David spits, but its without real feeling and Christopher can't help but grin as he closes the car door and strolls around to the driver's side, knowing that all is forgiven.

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A/N: It just wouldn't be good fic if David didn't get beat up at least once. Okay...so maybe it would be _good_ fic, but some entertainment value is definitely lost. Cool Runnings, anyone catch that? Anyone? ...sigh...obscure movie references, not as funny. darn.


	7. Heist

Chapter 7, Heist

Nashville, Tennessee

They make a wrong turn somewhere near Johnson City and end up just outside of Nashville by nightfall.

"You can't make a wrong turn," Christopher tells him. "When you don't know where you're going." David rolls his eyes at this and requests a stop for food, because he can't live on Tylenol alone, and Christopher admonishes him by pulling into a small fast food place.

"Be right back," he says and darts into the restaurant. When he comes back out with two bags of the greasiest food the place offers, David is hobbling around the parking lot, stretching his legs and trying to get a handle on the crutches. Christopher approaches him with a smirk.

"You look like a raccoon on stilts."

David smiles a bit and shakes his head.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Christopher dead pans.

"All this," David presses on, gesturing with his crutches. "The cast, the brace, the ER? It cost money."

Christopher nods and strokes his chin, pretending to consider. "Yes, yes. Astute observation, Watson."

David shrugs his shoulders, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I told you not to worry about the money, princess," Christopher grins and turns evasively back to the car. It's a few minutes before David can limp over and settle into the passenger seat. Christopher feels only slightly guilty about not helping him, but he needs those few seconds to think about what he's going to say.

"I didn't worry," David continues, once he's in the car, as if the conversation hadn't been broken. "But that was when you were only buying gas and food. I don't have insurance, but those nurses didn't even ask about it." He waits for Christopher to fill in the blanks, but the blonde continues to avoid his eyes, picking through the bags of food. "An ER visit had to have been close to a thousand dollars, at least."

"Two thousand, four hundred and thirty five," Christopher corrects quietly, ignoring David's wide-eyed awe.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"I sort of borrowed it," Christopher admits.

"From?" David asks, not certain he wants to hear the answer.

"They Copy Shop," Christopher responds without hesitation, earlier plans of evasive lies forgotten. The truth is always the best option anyway, he thinks.

"Shit, Christopher," David breathes. "Back in Chicago?"

"Yea. Right before we left."

"How much?"

Christopher glances at David, wondering about the strength of his heart before answering.

"Almost six thousand."

"Six thousand dollars," David yells in disbelief, ignoring Christopher's motions to keep it down.

"They were asking for it," Christopher defends. "The door was unlocked, no security system, the combination to the safe was the same as when I worked there."

"Six thousand dollars," David repeats. "We're fucking felons." Christopher shakes his head.

"No."

"Yes," David insists. "Felons on the run. I can't believe you."

"I'll be Clyde," Christopher laughs. "You can be Bonnie."

"Just great," David mutters, chewing on his lip, though whether he is referring to the situation in general or his new feminine identity, Christopher can't be sure. "How much do you have left?" he asks.

"Enough," Christopher answers, distracting him from the actual amount. "Enough to get a hotel room tonight. Sleep in an actual bed. Stretch that knee out."

David has to admit, it's tempting. He'd been banging his casted knee against the dash all day, and the idea of trying to sleep with it in the car, not to mention the rest of his aches, certainly isn't appealing. A hotel room couldn't be more than a hundred dollars or so and considering what they'd already spent, that wasn't much at all. Of course, come tomorrow, there would be only one thing to do.

"Okay," David relents. "Just for tonight. Tomorrow, we have to head back, return the money."

"Can't do that," Christopher replies.

"Why not?"

"Then they'll know I did it. Jail time? I'll pass, thanks."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before," David bellows and Christopher scrambles to roll the windows up as an older couple strolls past the car. Christopher smiles politely at them before turning back to his passenger.

"Chill out, David."

"Chill out?" David yelps, pounding his fists on the dash with each word. "Christopher, I am not chill under the best of circumstances, the past few days haven't exactly been smooth sailing, and you've just told me that you stole six thousand dollars. Are you kidding me?" He turns to the other boy, chest heaving, and is more than a little annoyed when Christopher begins to laugh.

"What is so fucking funny?" David demands. In response, Christopher's laughter develops into a full bellied, uncontrollable fit.

"You've lost your mind," David tells him, trying hard not to smile. "What was your plan in all this?"

Christopher wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shrugs.

"Drive fast?"

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	8. Wanderlust

A/N: Thanks to all that have read and suffered through my ridiculous OOC's and ADD plotting. This is the end. Enjoy. :)

Chapter 8, Wanderlust

Nashville, Tennessee

David wakes early the next morning, as is usual, feeling well rested for the first time in a week and considerably less sore. A glance at the hands of the nightstand clock let him know its only 6 a.m. and the odd thing about that is that Christopher is already up. He sits at the flimsy hotel table reading a newspaper by the blue morning light that filters through the curtains.

"What are you doing?" David asks, turning away from the blonde as he sits up and eases his knee over the edge of the bed. Christopher jumps at the sound of his voice and sets the paper down.

"Planning how to spend my last day of freedom," he tells David, with only a trace of a smile.

"Sorry," David replies with honest sincerity. If there had been another way to fix things properly, he would have taken it.

"It's okay," Christopher assures him, because he's aware that David only knows how to do one thing and that's the right thing. Anything else isn't worth the time. Christopher's almost jealous. He wishes some things came that easily to him, but common sense and honor aren't ground into his nature and its always a struggle to come around to the facts. Sitting up for most of the night though, had given Christopher the time to realize that if going back home and returning the money was going to be his last free action for awhile, then let it at least be the right thing to do. And let it at least be an action David would respect. He couldn't quite settle with when, and why, earning David's respect had become important.

"Christopher," David begins with a yawn. "Is that what this whole trip was about? You stole some money and had to get away?"

Christopher stares at the brunette's slouched back for a moment before responding.

"Nah," he finally says with a grin. "It was about satisfying my wanderlust."

David twists around in the dark room to see Christopher's shadowed features where the boy sits still and straight in the chair, as if offering his testimony to the jury.

"Seriously?" David asks him.

Christopher smiles grimly and shakes his head, studying the floral patterned carpeting. The road has been too long and he's too far without sleep to give David happy lies anymore. When he speaks, it's in a morbid whisper that echoes off the plaster walls.

"It's not often that you get the chance to live your life and lose it at the same time, General."

David chokes on the next breath he takes and grasps the edge of the mattress for support. Damn it all if Christopher didn't end up being the profoundly wise one. Even though they avoided talking about it, the war had been increasingly intense recently, more and more men were dying, and they were losing their strength. David could feel the walls closing in around them. They were running out of options. And Christopher was the one always by his side. Not April back in the infirmary and not Jalil working with the blacksmiths and cartographers to develop new weapons and detailed maps. They weren't acquainted with the battlefield, didn't forever hear agonized cries in their sleep, weren't so familiar with the rustic scent of newly spilt blood that its fragrance had become a comforting constant. Christopher was the only one that knew the battlefield, like he knew it, had been close enough to death to spit in its face and come back to the fight willingly.

"They wouldn't get it," he says aloud, echoing Christopher's earlier words. Christopher nods at this with a faraway look in his eyes.

"I never did get to see the ocean before," he mumbles. David slumps back onto the bed, adds another reason to the list of why he keeps fighting.

"We're going to win this goddamn war Christopher," he says without the usual conviction or strength he puts into the words.

"Sure we will," Christopher agrees weakly.

The clock ticks loudly in the stillness of the room and David allows his eyes to slide shut. Exhales slowly as the people in the next room over laugh loudly at a joke he can't hear. It isn't fair, he thinks lamely. It isn't fair and it isn't easy. It seems he's been fighting his whole life and now he's just too damn tired and somehow, somehow, the fact that he can't guarantee Christopher a happy ending is the worst part. They're going to win the war, he thinks with renewed certainty, even if he doesn't get to see it, Christopher will.

"But for now," he says, not immediately realizing that he is speaking aloud. "For now Christopher, Mexico sounds really nice."


End file.
